Carolina and The Fan Non-fiction | H.S

Sixteen

*mild mature content*

I'd like to declare that the alcohol from an hour or two or three ago only made me half drunk. Because here I am, in Theo's flat, having second thoughts in my mind but still kissing him anyway.

I figured that a kiss has numerous complicated aspects to it. There's the physical, the emotional, the social. It also has typea. Today, I feel like this kiss  falls under the sensual type. Driven by the sensation of touch and the emotional indulgence it brings. Different from the kiss I've come to know from last week, which was tender and dreamy. Stop comparing.

His first layers of clothing are on the floor. In simply his skinny black jeans, he claimed my mouth while I claim his back. The taste of alcohol consumed our connection, deepening the energy of our kiss. His tongue joins the equation, bringing the sound of pleasure out of my slightly parted lips.

I bring my hands to his hair, tugging at the strands lightly, leading him to return the sound. We briefly disengage, panting for air, giving us the time to look into each other's brown irises. I look for the hypnotic feeling in them that would cause me to link my lips with his again.

But I look further, and instead, felt a brief flicker of an image in my head. For a second, his irises didn't look brown. They appeared green.

I close my eyes, dragging my breathing, hoping that the image goes away. Before I could open them again though, I feel Theo's lips on my neck. This only further drags my breathing as heat forms within my body and my lower half clenches with tension.

His force on my neck tells me that I may need to use concealer or another turtleneck clothing tomorrow. It also finally brought my eyelids to open, finding him already detaching from that place. He trails down my body, pausing right before my thighs. My tight dress hiked itself up my legs and is obviously shorter in this position. He gives me a vehement gaze.

Another flicker goes off in my head and suddenly his eyes appear green again. With this, bizarre guilt washes the alcohol in my body and I feel completely sober this time.

Theo's fingers sink between my legs and I gasp. He brings his lips to my thigh, leaving a peck. I feel his hands move to the hem of my dress. When he begins to lift it up, my hesitation turned to certainty.

"Theo I—"

I pause and so does he.

"I can't," I finished, my undefined guilt defined as not meeting Theo's expectation for tonight.

He moves away from my legs to sit beside me on the bed, leaning against the headboard. I do the same, looking to his side to observe him. His face flashes disappointment and he hides it by saying, "It's okay, I respect that."

This only makes me more guilty, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he reassured, flashing a smile, "I understand. It's more than okay."

I don't cry a lot, but in the event of fairly dramatic scenes in my life, my eyes tend to water but never actually drop a tear. Today might be another one of those. It's likely because I didn't expect him to be so understanding about it.

"Hey," Theo called me out of my thoughts, "you look like you're about to cry but again, it's alright."

"I'm sorry, there's just some things," I spoke vaguely, trying to give an explanation to make up for the outcome or the lack of that rather.

He nods. "You can still stay here, just until you're sober. It's late already anyway."

"Thank you, Theo."